All Night Long
by CheerfulChemist
Summary: This is a one-shot that takes place after "The Truth Will Out." After a fight about Lucy, Ben talks John into going to an uncrowded beach where he can relax and try to get his head straight. An unexpected disaster intervenes in their plans. The cover image is by @Artifex Prime.


All Night Long

"John, what the hell!" Ben demands. "Was that Lucy's car I just saw driving off? I thought you said you two weren't together anymore."

"We're not - not together the way you think. We weren't sleeping together, just talking."

"All night?"

"I guess. Lucy took a bullet in the vest, and I got banged up pretty good from that baseball bat. That makes us both pretty sore. Neither one of us can sleep on our stomachs, and there aren't any other positions that are comfortable either. We were keeping each other company in our misery and playing a marathon game of Monopoly. It was good practice for when Henry comes. He beats me too."

"Any more fallout from the shooting?"

"I told you Commander West closed the case, but I'm pretty sure he knew I was lying about being alone. He's grateful that I was there to help when Jackson was under fire, but if anything else happens, I don't know how much credibility I'll have."

"I'm still not clear on why you couldn't tell West that Lucy was here. You've said there isn't a reg against cops sleeping together. Didn't Tim Bradford marry one? And if Lucy admitted that she was here, it would have immediately discredited the story your attacker made up about you luring him to your home. Lucy could have cleared you, but she was worried about being exposed as lying about your relationship herself. Wasn't that a little selfish, John? If she really cares about you, wouldn't she have come clean?"

John scrubs a hand over the stubble on his jaw. "I hadn't thought about it that way. But she was in a tough spot."

"You were in a tougher one John. You were being accused of a crime, not a misstatement. This is you, every time. Mr. Self-Sacrifice. You gave up everything you wanted for Sarah and Henry. You've just managed to put your life together again, and you almost blew it for Lucy. At least Sarah was there for you for 20 years, and you're still both there for Henry. It seems to me that when you needed her the most, Lucy was only thinking of herself. And I'm also willing to bet that if she wants to jump in bed with you again, you'll gratefully pull the sheet back for her. And after you get her off, she'll tell you that it was fun but a mistake - again, and you'll be stuck trying to comfort yourself with beer and stale pizza until the next time she gets an itch."

"That's harsh, Ben."

"Really? If you were in Lucy's shoes, would you have hesitated, even for a moment to step forward to clear her?"

"No," John admits, "I wouldn't."

"Then you're in a deep enough hole, John. For Christ's sake, stop digging."

John sinks down on the couch, his face in his hands. "I guess you're right."

"I know I'm right. Look, you should get away from here. Half an hour north of San Diego, there's a beach that is almost deserted. You can lie in the sun and let the sound of the ocean put you to sleep. If you can get some rest, you'll be thinking straighter. I'll drive. We can take my Mercedes. The trunk is big enough for a cooler."

When John opens his eyes, Ben is pulling into a parking lot next to a beach. As far as he can tell, Ben wasn't kidding about it being deserted. Ben's car is the only vehicle taking up space on the asphalt, and he can't see anyone on the sand. "How long did I sleep?"

"I-5 was pretty clear. About an hour and a half. You look better for it."

"I feel better for it. Thanks."

"No problem, Roomie. But if you want to thank me, you can grab the ice chest."

John takes hold of the large insulated container. "What did you put in here, bricks? If this is a public beach, we shouldn't have beer or any kind of alcohol."

Ben shakes his head. "Can't stop being the cop for a second, can you, Buddy? I packed iced tea and not the Long Island variety, and there's also a bunch of deli, including that pastrami you love to clog your arteries with, even if it isn't close to New York standards. We can just veg on blankets and stuff it in our mouths."

"Sounds good. Sounds great actually." John winces as he pulls off his shirt.

Ben regards the blotches of blue, red and yellow on John's torso. "You weren't kidding about your bruises."

"Souvenirs courtesy of a vengeance-seeking brother. And Ben, if Lucy hadn't been there, he might have inflicted fatal damage."

"I get that, John. I was just saying that she could have gutted it up and admitted to being there, instead of leaving you to the mercies of Internal Affairs. But I'm willing to let the subject go if you are."

John flips a blanket over the gritty surface and flops on top of it. "I'd appreciate that, Ben. "I'm surprised there aren't more people here. This beach is as nice as the one below your house."

"I think it's the proximity to the railroad tracks," Ben offers. "From the freeway, you wouldn't think it would be this pristine on the other side."

"Their loss," John declares, pulling the bill of his L.A.P.D. hat over his face and closing his eyes.

* * *

John is on his second pastrami sandwich when devils of sand are flung upward by an explosion. "What the?" He can see flames shooting toward the sky from the direction of the train route. Grabbing his cellphone from his discarded slacks, he calls 911, then grimly pulls his street clothes back on. "Ben, it must be a derailment. It could be a load of chemicals or an oil shipment. I need to get over there. There could be people hurt or trapped."

"John, you should leave that to the first responders."

"In case you missed it, Roomie, I am a first responder, and I don't hear sirens of any others yet. The first moments can be critical to the survival of anyone caught in a disaster like that. When help arrives, I'll let them do their jobs, but for now, I need to go. If you don't want to come with me, just give me the keys to your damn car."

"I'll take you, John, just don't get yourself the fuck killed."

* * *

Ben parks at least a quarter of a mile from the inferno, but John can already feel the heat. There may not be anyone left alive, but he needs to find out. He's run about 100 yards when he discovers a car that was rolled by the blast, with a man and a woman in the front seat and a little girl strapped into a safety seat in the rear. The man behind the wheel appears unconscious - or worse. The woman is kicking at her door, but it's not budging.

John longs for the utility belt he left behind in his locker at the station but looks around for something he can use to pry the car open. There are steel rods, thrown off by the blast and still hot. He pulls off his T-shirt to wrap around one of them and inserts it where the latch is caught. It takes every ounce of strength he built up in his training at the academy, plus help from Ben, to force the catch back, but he is able to get the woman out. He immediately feels for a pulse in the neck of the driver and exhales the breath that had trapped itself in his chest when he finds one. He's just managed to pull the child free and put her in her mother's arms when the rising wails signal the welcome approach of emergency vehicles.

Ben puts a hand on John's back. "They're coming, Buddy. More help is on the way."

* * *

The freeways are blocked in both directions, but John wouldn't have wanted to leave in any case as darkness descends. He and Ben can't get any closer to the wreck, but they can aid in distributing supplies and helping victims contact their families.

In the floodlights set up by the California Highway Patrol, John regards the uncharacteristic slump of Ben's shoulders. "Hey man, you're the one who's exhausted now, and we've taken care of everyone that we can. If there's anything I'm used to, it's driving tired. I'll get us back to L.A."

Even in the early hours of the morning, the trip back to Ben's estate is slow, with standing waves causing traffic to crawl, even if the original obstructions have been cleared. As headlights glare in his eyes, John is grateful for the rest he was able to grab on the beach. When he pulls into the multi-car garage at the big house, he nudges Ben awake. "We're here, Roomie."

Ben rubs his eyes and eases his way out of the Mercedes. "I'm beginning to understand why you wanted to be a cop, John. I could live without the 12-hour shifts and the strained muscles, but what you did tonight, what I got a chance to help you do, that was worth more than a hundred trips overseas. Thanks. Really. But now I'm going to get a shower and sleep for at least the next sixteen hours."

John lays his hand gently on his friend's shoulder. "You've earned it."

At four a.m. John climbs into his bed at the guest house. He was up all night again, but this time, at least, he can feel satisfaction in it. He can get a couple of hours of sleep, anyway, before he'll have to report to Mid-Wilshire for his shift. He hopes he'll still be feeling as good about his calling when he faces Grey at roll call. As he drifts off, he's betting that he will.


End file.
